


Three's Better Than One

by AquaWolfGirl



Category: Pan (2015)
Genre: Cute, Friendship, Hook's POV, POV, Some Slight Cursing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:18:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5181743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquaWolfGirl/pseuds/AquaWolfGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hook didn't have friends. He had allies. Assets. But he didn't have friends. And now suddenly he has two - in the form of a tribal princess, and flying boy.<br/>Cute moments of friendship between the three heroes. From Hook's POV. Will be multiple short chapters as I think up ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friends

**Author's Note:**

> These have been sitting on my computer since the first time I saw the movie, and I needed somewhere to put them. So, here we go? Hope you enjoy! Hook carrying Peter will most likely be a common trope in this series, as I find it so freaking cute to imagine.

He didn’t have friends. In the mines, he had allies. He had assets. He had people he could nod at when passing, he had people he could maybe rely on should he make an escape plan out of that hellhole.

But he didn’t have friends.

Smee was never a friend. Smee was an asset. Smee was never more than someone he could use.

Friends required emotions. Friends required doing favors and doing things for people other than himself, and that was just too much. He wasn’t going to break his back for someone else, no way.

Never in all his years on this godforsaken island did he think that would change.

He watches them across the fire. The small boy leaning against the princess, eyes fluttering closed with exhaustion. It’d been a hell of a day for the kid. A hell of a four days, to be exact. He can’t even imagine. The princess presses a soft kiss to Peter’s forehead, meeting Hook’s eyes across the fire. She looks almost as tired as Peter, but smiles as the boy curls into her more. He smiles at the small scene of his friends.

Friends.

He has friends.

And, damn, isn't that weird to think about?

He stands a moment later, walking over to them. Without a word, he scoops the kid up in his arms. Peter doesn’t protest in his drowsiness, turning over to rest dark curls against Hook’s shoulder. He wraps thin arms around the ex-miner’s neck, loosely hooking his ankles around Hook’s waist to keep upright as he dozes. The kid’s light, lighter than he should be, and Hook’s slightly afraid he’ll break him as he adjusts his grip to hold Peter tighter to him.

Hook can see Tiger Lily’s soft smile in the firelight, and gives her a slight nod, not wanting to wake Peter. “G’night, princess,” he mutters. She nods in return, and he weaves his way through celebrating natives, fairies and orphans.

They’re sharing a tent, for the time being. It’s a small thing with two beds and the equivalent of a washstand, but it’s good enough for now. He has plans for houses among the trees, easily accessed by ladders and pulley systems. And, of course, by flight.

The kid’s clinging to him like a monkey as he sits down on Peter’s bed. It takes some prying and pulling and shaking to get him off, but eventually he gets Peter on the mattress. He takes care removing the boy’s suspenders, pulls off the small, mud-caked boots and sets them next to the bed for the morning. And then he stares. He stares as Peter relaxes back onto the sheets, curling into the colorful fabrics.

This kid … this damned kid. This fairy-human hybrid. This prince. This heir to the fairy kingdom. This flying boy. This Chosen One. This … kid.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he stands and starts to shed his coat. It’s no wonder the boy passed out in his arms, with all that they've been through.

He turns in surprise as Peter makes a whining sound in his sleep, and finds himself on alert. He’s never paid attention to anyone’s sleeping habits before. Sleeping space in the mines was slim, so he was used to people around him. But he never felt concerned when one shouted or even screamed in their sleep. Now, he’s worried over a little whine.

God, what’s he doing? Hook sighs as Peter’s breathing evens out, and finishes pulling off his boots and suspenders.

They’ll need to get new clothes, eventually. Maybe steal some on their next trip to London. But the ones on his back’ll do for now.

He slips beneath the colorful sheets covering the mattress he’d been given. He stays awake for a few more moments, listening for movement or sounds from his friend.

Friend.

_Yeah, yeah, you have friends, go to sleep._


	2. Sick Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can't tell by Bruises and this chapter, I love me some non-healthy Hook and him being taken care of. Poor precious man baby's probably never been cared for before.

The kid’s going to be the death of him, he swears. He’s not entirely sure how this is Peter’s fault, but he figures it has to be. Some way, some how. 

He sneezes for seemingly the hundredth time since he’d woken up, grimacing and wiping his nose on his shirt sleeve. It’s disgusting, but it’s the best he can do. Hook groans and lets his head fall back to the pillow, staring at the colorful ceiling of his tent and the metal decorations dangling from it.

His head hurts, the room spinning and slightly blurry. He groans again, closing his eyes and trying to remember back to when he could breathe correctly. What did the air around the tribal camp smell like, again? 

He sniffles pathetically as he curls into the thin blankets the natives had given him. Sure, they’re fine on a normal night when the air’s warm and mild. But now he feels both freezing and burning at the same time, and he’s torn between throwing the blankets off and gathering every blanket and fur and coat that exists in the camp. 

“Hook!” 

Peter’s voice is loud. Much too loud for the pounding in his head, and he groans, pulling the blankets over his face.

That’s right. They go on what Peter likes to call ‘adventures’ most every day, gathering supplies for rebuilding the camp and building tree houses for the kids. Naturally, today wouldn’t be any different.

Hook gives an irritated huff in response as he hears the flap to the tent pull to the side. “Go away,” he mutters, voice muffled by the blankets he’s buried under. 

The precious fabric’s pulled away from his face a moment later, and he screws his eyes shut in an attempt to avoid the offending light. He pries one eye open after a moment, and glares at a smirking Peter. Then he sneezes, and the kid’s face changes from amused to concerned faster than the wind. 

He doesn’t see Peter moving towards him, doesn’t even see his hand, but moans softly as Peter touches cool fingers to his forehead. Damn, that feels good. 

“Hook, you’re burning up!” 

“I’m fine,” he mutters, sitting up a bit. The room spins, but he manages to swing his legs over the bed with a little difficulty. He stands up …

And promptly pitches forward. 

Peter flies forward, literally, pressing his hands to Hook’s chest in order to keep him upright. But the kid’s weight isn’t enough and Hook stumbles forward, falling to his knees ungracefully. The sudden movement prompts a coughing attack, and he feels small hands on his back as he tries to get his breathing under control. 

He can vaguely hear Peter’s voice over the sounds of his own coughing. Something about leaving and getting and Tiger Lily. He opens his mouth to say no, to protest, to say that he doesn’t need anything and doesn’t want to be any trouble, but ultimately ends up coughing again. He hears the flap to the tent open and close, and the rush of wind past his face tells him what he needs to know. 

Great. Someone else worrying about him. Fantastic. 

He leans back against the side of the bed, head tipped back against the mattress with his legs spread out on the floor. Bloody hell, when was the last time he was this sick? Must’ve been ten years ago, probably. He remembers yelling when he worked too slow, a hit to his cheek when he coughed for too long. He remembers water being pressed into his hands by one of the older miners, and then being given some godawful liquid that managed to calm his cough enough to work for the rest of the day. 

In all honesty, he’d probably punch someone square in the face for that liquid now. Sure, it was sour and bitter and all kinds of awful, but at least it calmed the coughing.

His eyes must’ve slipped closed without him really acknowledging it, because next thing he knows he’s opening them as a soft, cool hand touches his forehead.

It’s not Peter’s. Peter’s hands are rough from the work they’ve been doing, and smaller besides. He guesses who it could be without opening his eyes.

“Hey, princess.” His voice is barely above a whisper. And what little sound does come out is rough as the rock in the mines. The effort has him coughing again, though only twice this time. 

Tiger Lily’s barely in focus by the time he’s finished, his eyes watering with the force of the coughing. She must not have had time to put on her face paint on yet, since her eyes aren’t swiped with pink. She looks just as concerned as the boy peering over her shoulder, Peter floating a bit above the ground so he could see properly. 

“See? He’s burning up!” Peter insists. 

Hook shakes his head, gently pushing her hand away. “I’m fine, kid, don’t worry.” He hoists himself up a bit against the bed, trying to stand. He waves off the two pairs of hands that come to help him, but falls again a moment later into said hands. Damn it. “Totally fine,” he mutters as he tries to stand up straight.

“You lie,” she says. It’s not a question, it’s a statement, and he can’t tell whether the princess is pissed or amused or concerned. 

“It’s a grown-up thing,” he mutters as he’s pushed back down onto the bed. He goes willingly this time. The effort it takes to stand isn’t worth it. He’s not fooling either of them, he knows. He lets the blankets be pulled up, lets himself be tucked in for once in his life. 

It’s strange, to be taken care of. He’s not used to it, and he’s not sure he likes it, but they sure as hell won’t let him take care of himself at this rate. He settles back, closing his eyes and just listening to the conversation between the fairy prince and the tribal princess.

He lets himself drift in the space between awake and asleep, hearing Tiger Lily’s voice as soft murmurs. There’s a rush of wind again, and he knows Peter’s gone to follow directions. As persistent as the kid was to disobey orders in the mines, he’s pretty good at listening to Tiger Lily.

He opens his eyes when her hand finds his hair. He wants to protest, wants to tell her that he hasn’t bathed in the creek in a few days with all the work they’ve been doing, that it probably feels disgusting with all the sweating he’s been doing with this fever.

But he doesn’t. Instead he finds himself staring at her as her fingers brush against his scalp, and he leans into her touch.   
It’s the most affection he’s been shown in a long time, and he’s going to soak up every minute of it. 

She’s silent for a moment before asking, “Did you wake up like this?” 

His “yeah” comes out as half of a croak and so he just nods, hoping her fingers don’t move. They don’t, and she hums. 

“Perhaps you are overworked. You have been working every day, dawn to dusk.” 

“Worked every day in the mines,” he mutters. His voice works this time, partially, enough that she can get the gist of what he says. It’s not perfect, nor is it the most attractive of voices, but at least she can understand him.

“Not like this,” she defends. And she’s right. The mine didn’t involve running after a flying boy, trying to keep up as he watches the kid dart between trees. The kid’s faster than he thinks he is, and Hook has to practically sprint in order to keep up. And he’s used to swinging a pickaxe against rock, not hammering and tying and weaving. Running isn't exactly a thing they do in the mines, either.

The tent fills with light a moment later as the fabric of the door's pulled aside hastily. Peter's carrying a small bucket that sloshes over with water when he sets it by the bed. His other arm holds another blanket, and a small cloth. He sets them at the foot of the bed, with Tiger Lily's instruction.

She pulls her hand away, and Hook wants to whine. He even tries to follow her hand, head moving from the pillow. But then there’s a cold cloth on his forehead and he moans at how good it feels, falling back down again. The princess smirks a bit as she arranges it so it won’t drip water into his eyes, then turns to Peter.

“If it starts to warm, dip it back in the water,” she directs. “I will return shortly. Keep him company, and keep him cool.” She stands and leaves in a swirl of color. 

Hook closes his eyes. It’s effort to keep them open, and he doesn’t want the water in them, anyway. It’s blissfully dark behind his lids, and he almost slips into sleep when Peter’s voice comes through. 

“I’m sorry.”

The kid’s so quiet he barely hears him. But he catches it, and opens his eyes. Peter’s sitting in the air, cross-legged, small fingers playing with the pan flute necklace around his neck. 

“What for, kid?” he asks. It hurts just to talk, but hell if he’s going to let the boy sit there in the air feeling guilty. 

“I shouldn’t have made you run so hard. I shouldn’t have made you do so much.” His eyes are still on the metal of his necklace. “It… it happened, sometimes, at the orphanage. Mother Barnabas would work us too hard, and we got sick.” 

The kid’s strikingly blue eyes finally lift to meet his. “It’s all my fault," he says, and Hook swears his voice breaks. 

Well, hell.

“Hey, hey, now, don’t think that.” He reaches a hand out, instinctively, and Peter darts forward to grab it. “It could’ve been lotsa things, all right? Could’ve been swimming in that lagoon. Could’ve been that it was cold last night. Hell, could’ve been my own dumb fault. But it certainly ain’t yours, all right?” He squeezes the small hand, grinning despite the fact that talking feels like he’s swallowing fire, and he probably looks pathetic. 

To his relief, Peter nods and moves back a bit, seemingly satisfied with Hook's explanation.

The cloth on his head’s flipped over a moment later. He sighs at the cool side. It feels like heaven on his overheated skin. He lets his eyes slip closed, and enjoys the quiet. There's Peter's breathing, and the ragged sound of his own, and the general noise of the tribe around him, but it doesn't bother him. It's the quiet sound of life, of everything being all right despite the hell they went through a few weeks earlier.

He frowns and opens his eyes again when he feels water on his forearm, and looks down to see Peter dangling wet fingertips over his skin. The water drops fall and land with soft 'splat's, cool and comforting. He watches them fall for a few moments, trying to figure out what Peter was trying to do. When his muddled brain gives up on trying to provide an answer, he decides to ask directly. 

“… what are you doing?” 

“You like the wet rag, right? Figured you’d like being cool other places, too. Your arm's kinda the only thing not covered, though.” Peter’s cheeks are red as he realizes he must’ve done something wrong, and damn if that isn’t one of the most adorable things Hook’s seen in his entire life. 

He snorts. “Cooling my head helps the most, kid. All you’re doing there is getting me wet.” 

Peter pulls his hand away, still blushing. “Sorry.” 

“Nah, you’re fine.” 

“We weren’t allowed in the infirmary, so I don't know what to do,” Peter explains. “They thought we’d all get sick if we went in.” 

“And then they’d lose their source of income,” Hook finishes. “Sick kids are the equivalent of botched goods.” 

The way Peter winces makes his heart clench. They hadn’t visited the mines, not yet. They needed to do that soon. Get those kids out of there. Hook wonders idly just how many of them Peter knows. 

Knew.

“I knew she was selling orphans.” 

The vehement way Peter says it has him laughing. Then the laughing turns to coughing and he’s doubled over, the cloth falling from his head into his lap. Peter scrambles forward and he feels the small hands at his back again. Waving him off does no good, so he settles for the fact that the kid cares and continues coughing. 

There’s something cool and smooth pressed to his lips a moment later. It comes with an order, “Drink,” and then he thanks every single god he can think of because the water’s cool and sweet. He follows his orders, drinking greedily until the wooden cup is empty. Another’s pressed to his lips, and he opens his mouth, expecting more water. 

He couldn’t have been more wrong. 

He almost chokes as the thick liquid moves down his throat. It’s bitter; it’s not as bad as what the miner had given him all those years ago, but it’s thicker and harder to swallow. The firm hand at the nape of his neck keeps him from pulling back, and he has no choice but to take it. It seems to take forever to get it all, but eventually the cup’s pulled away and Tiger Lily’s thumb moves across his bottom lip to wipe the rest away. 

“God, what is that stuff?!” he says, breathless and wide-eyed as he stares at the deep red liquid left in the cup. There's about a centimeter left, but Tiger Lily takes the cup and sets it aside, much to his relief.

“Medicine,” is all Tiger Lily says as she moves around the room. He sees more things that she brought with her. Jars and boxes and other things. He sees more blankets, more small cloths to keep his fever at bay.

Hook makes a face before lying back down on the bed. As nasty as that stuff was, it didn't hold a candle to whatever they used in the mines, and it seems to have worked. His throat still burns, but he no longer has the urge to cough. He sighs in relief, closing his eyes. Maybe now he could get a bit of uninterrupted sleep, since he didn't get any last night.

The bed dips a bit, and then her fingers are in his hair again. This time he doesn't even bother hiding how good it feels. He hums in pleasure and tilts his head to give her more access. He can hear Peter giggling, and cracks one eye open to see the princess's smile. 

"… you don't need to take care of me, ya know?" he asks, slowly and with his voice low. "I can take care of myself. Got sick in the mines, sometimes. I was fine." 

"We know," she explains. Her mouth is somewhere halfway between smile and smirk. "But it is better to be taken care of." 

He can't argue with that logic, not with her stroking his hair and Peter putting another blanket on when he shivers. It's better, infinitely better, than sitting alone in the mine and hacking up a lung. 

Does it feel weird, to have people care about him? Hell yeah. But he's not complaining. Not in the slightest. 

"Thanks." 

It's slightly slurred, with how close he is to sleep, but he knows they heard. 

They don't respond. He wasn't really expecting them to, anyway. 

He falls asleep a few moments later, with her hand in his hair and Peter's hand on his shin, his own questioning thoughts of why he deserved this fading away.


	3. Goodnight Kiss(es).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five times Tiger Lily kisses Peter goodnight, and the one time Hook does it. Tooth-rotting fluff ahead so grab your toothbrushes and floss, people. I guess a teeny weensy part of this can be seen as Hook/Peter if you wish with all your might and want to see it that way, but it's mostly just cuteness and banter between those two.  
> I've also created a Tumblr, username heyflyboy. You can submit requests that way, if you have any, and it might turn into a Hook RP blog, who knows? But for now it's a sideblog where I'll accept requests for cuteness.

**1.**

The first time it happens, the kid’s too deep in dreamland to know what happened.

It’s the night after everything. His body’s too tired to take another coordinated step, so he practically stumbles to their tent. They’d defeated Blackbeard, saved the fairy hive, rescued at least two dozen orphans from a hellhole of an orphanage, and he can’t bring himself to really think about it. Heroic feats or no, he’s eager to pull off his boots and sink into the bed provided for him by the tribespeople.

He and Peter are sharing a tent, for the time being. With several of the tribespeople’s homes destroyed, it’s a miracle they’re not sharing with the other orphans or some of the others in need of shelter. He’s pretty sure the princess had some sort of hand in it, giving them a bit of solitude and silence after the day’s events. He’ll thank her later, when the sun’s high in the sky and his muscles aren’t protesting and his feet aren’t aching.

He yawns loudly as he steps inside the tent, and pauses mid-stretch as he sees the scene in front of him.

Tiger Lily’s sitting on the edge of Peter’s bed, legs tucked gracefully under her. She’s still in her celebratory finery - well, most of it. The headdress and shoulder-whatever are set beside her, abandoned next to the bed. He can barely see her in the slight light of the torches from outside, her features illuminated by occasional small, golden slivers of light. But it has to be her. Nobody else would be in here at Peter’s side, much less touching him in such a maternal way. He watches as her fingers card through the dark curls on the kid’s head, messing them up before smoothing them down again.

Peter doesn’t stir at all, his breathing deep and even. He’s the picture of innocence, always has been. He can’t imagine why those nuns hated him so much. Sure, he can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but one look at that sleeping face has Hook forgiving all the kid’s done wrong. Not that the kid did much wrong to begin with aside from a few smart remarks here and there.

He steps as lightly as he can in his heavy boots, but apparently it’s not light enough. Tiger Lily turns suddenly, eyes wide and body tensing. He presses his finger to his lips before holding up his hands in the universal sign of “it’s just me”. She hesitates, then nods, and he makes his way to his bed. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her hand’s returned to Peter’s hair, and that Peter’s now curled towards her.

He sits down on his bed with a slight creak, holding up his hands in surrender when Tiger Lily glares at him for the sound. He winces as his shifting makes another creak, and quickly pulls off his boots and sets those down as quietly as he can. He wiggles his way out of his coat and vest, thankfully not making as much noise this time.

And then he stands, moving to hover next to her over the boy that had saved them all.

“He’s exhausted,” she says quietly, and Hook snorts quietly.

“Can’t imagine why,” he says sarcastically.

She looks at him, her expression somewhere between exasperated and annoyed. “Over the past four days he has-“

His hand finds her shoulder, and he grins. “Sarcasm, sweetheart. Remind me to give you a crash course tomorrow.”

She stares at him, before turning back to Peter. Hook watches as she bends, tugging the blanket over the kid’s chest.

And then she presses a kiss to Peter’s forehead, leaving a smudge of color behind. She wipes the pink away with a gentle thumb, pulling back as Peter moves but doesn’t wake.

He waits until she’s standing before asking, “Don’t I get one, too?” His voice is light, teasing. In truth he’s only half-joking, but he’ll take the soft, embarrassed smile he gets before she leaves.

Moon and torch light floods the tent as she departs, and he sees the light hit Peter’s face. There are a few scratches on his pale cheeks, smudges of dirt covering smooth skin, and the kid looks like he’s been playing out in a backyard somewhere rather than saving an entire island full of people, children, and fairies.

Hook smirks, tugging the blanket up just a bit more, before turning and falling into his own bed.

 

**2.**

The second time it happens, it’s about a week later. The kid’s passed out again, clothes and boots still on.

Hook’s been helping him as best as he possibly can, giving the kid as much guidance as he can while making sure he eats every once in a while. Tiger Lily’s better with the whole negotiation/power/royal thing, whereas Hook’s better with action.

Hook was the one to recommend houses in the trees, and therefore he’s been the main builder. Sure, the tribespeople help. They’re a huge help in gathering resources and telling him which trees can and can’t go, which ones have been there forever and will provide a steady base and which ones can be used for wood. But they’re better at building on the ground, with color and fabric.

He’s on his own when it comes to planning and constructing the intricate treehouses. He doesn’t want fabric walls. He wants wood walls that will protect the kids they’ve rescued from the orphanage, and the kids they have yet to rescue from the mines. He wants something sturdy, something to call a home. He uses crude charcoal pencils and parchment to plan out the base houses, adding small touches like bridges and swinging ropes in between for easy access between them.

He works on his treehouse first. The ship's cabin isn't exactly prime living, and neither is the small tent in the camp. His house is the biggest, stacked high with the things from the ship they’d downed in the Neverwood. It’s not quite livable yet, but he has the base down, at the very least. He fell through the floorboards once, with Peter flying to catch him before he hit the ground, but hasn’t made that mistake since.

His hands are used to pickaxes and rock, not hammers and nails and wood. By the end of the week, the skin of his palms are rough and bleeding and covered in blisters. Tiger Lily bandages them for him, claiming to have taken enough of his complaining of splinters. He doesn’t say anything when her touch lingers a bit, feeling the callouses that come from hard work.

He returns to his and Peter’s tent a week after the first night, hands aching and muscles sore from hoisting himself into the trees day after day. Peter’s already collapsed from exhaustion, splayed out on his stomach with one leg and one arm dangling off of the side of the bed. He watches the boy for a moment before moving to his side of the room to get ready for bed himself.

Hook’s halfway through unlacing his boots when the room’s filled with moonlight again, and he looks up to see Tiger Lily’s figure in the doorway. He nods at her, permission to come in and a welcome in one, and she enters as he tugs his socks off.

He glances towards Peter. “Poor kid’s used to running a band of miscreants, not an island,” he says, voice gruff after a day of shouting orders.

“He didn’t even manage to get in,” she says, voice fond as she steps towards him.

Hook stands, walking over to Peter’s bed. She’s right. The kid still has his boots and braces on, his small body above the colorful blankets.

“Take the blanket,” he mutters, arms moving under Peter’s body and holding the boy to his chest as Tiger Lily pulls the blankets down. He sets the boy down again and unclips the braces from his pants, hanging the suspenders off of the side of the bed. Tiger Lily undoes his boots, and they make a fine team undressing the boy for bed. Hook tugs the blanket up to Peter’s chin, grinning a bit at the way the boy snuggles into the warmth.

Tiger Lily’s kiss is on Peter’s cheek this time, and Hook doesn’t ask for one tonight. He’ll get one in time, if he ever gets one at all. He smiles at her as she leaves, and gives a little salute before moving back to his bed and slipping under the blankets, falling asleep before his head even hits the pillow.

The next morning, Peter can’t stop talking about the dream he’d had of wings and light, and his mother’s eyes, and the feeling of her lips on his cheek. Hook hides his smile behind his mug of coffee, and tells him to shut up after about ten minutes.

 

**3.**

For someone who managed to save the entire island and a gaggle of two dozen or so orphans, Peter Pan can sometimes be a bit clueless. 

Hook's not entirely sure what they taught the kids at the orphanage. Peter's told him a bit, and he's heard by word of mouth from some of the other kids, but whatever those nuns taught the boys isn't exactly useful in everyday life. 

He'd fixed Peter's pickaxe in the mine, knowing full well the kid had never done a day of mine work in his life. But simple carpentry? It seemed like common sense to him that fingers and nails and hammers don't exactly mix well. 

Peter's glaring at his swollen thumb like it's done every wrong in the world, and Hook keeps his snickering to himself as he puts his tools away and unlaces his boots. "You know," he teases, voice deliberately kind of sing-songy, "if you'd listened to me and done it how I'd taught you-" 

"Oh, shut up," Peter mutters, and Hook laughs as the tent flap opens to reveal the princess. He shrinks a bit as he falls victim to her glare, and makes a mental note to find whoever tattled on him.

"Don't glare at me!" Hook insists as she walks to Peter and sits beside him on the bed, taking his hand to inspect it. "It's not my fault he didn't listen." 

"It's your fault for being a horrible teacher," Peter retorts before letting himself be coddled.

Yeah, okay, now he gets why the nuns were fed up with him. The kid's a brat when he wants to be. 

"There doesn't seem to be bleeding. The swelling will go down in a few hours. Your finger will be bruised, but not unusable," Tiger Lily tells Peter, and Hook rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against one of the posts holding the tent up.

"I told him that, and he didn't believe me," he scoffs, giving Peter a look.

"It was purple!" Peter insists.

"It still is!" 

"Enough, both of you!"

Both males silence immediately at her tone, shoulders hunching instinctively. "Sorry," they say at the same time. 

Tiger Lily turns to Peter. "You are not to use hammers or nails," she orders. "And you," she says, turning to Hook, "are not allowed to let him use them." 

"Yes, ma'am," Hook replies immediately, while Peter just nods. 

"All right." She takes Peter's hand and kisses the black-and-blue thumb gently, squeezing the rest of his fingers before standing and leaving without another word. 

The two remaining stare at each other for a moment, before Peter's face splits into a grin that Hook knows means trouble. 

"So… since I can't use a hammer, I can't work."

"Not getting out of it that easy, flyboy."

 

 

**4.**

The fourth, Peter has a nightmare.

Hook’s woken by the sound of whimpering, of legs and arms thrashing against sheets, and then a scream.

He’s up and by the boy’s side in half a second, Tiger Lily bursting in a few moments later with he knows to be the tribe's version of a lantern in her hand. Hook scoots back, assuming that she’ll do the better job at comforting Peter since he doesn’t have a nuturing bone in his body (or so he thinks).

The princess’s hands find Peter’s cheeks, soothing and shushing him until Peter wakes up with a sob.

Hook watches as the boy folds into her arms, sobbing against the loose shift she wears to bed. There’s talk of falling, of bombs and fire. The words are hard to pick out, as hard as the kid’s blubbering, but he can make sense of what the kid saw.

Peter had seen a different battle. Peter had seen one where they’d lost.

He hears something about falling, and dying, and then his name. He hears his name over and over again, and lifts his eyes to meet Tiger Lily’s shocked ones.

The kid had dreamt he’d died.

On instinct, he reaches around, his larger hand moving to Peter's shoulder and then down, covering a good half of the boy’s back. Peter hiccups, and shakes, and sobs for a few more moments before he manages to calm himself down.

Hook sits with the kid pressed against his side as Tiger Lily goes and gets a cup of water, and they watch as Peter downs it, still hiccuping softly. He’s sure the kid’s not 100% awake by the way his slight frame sways every so often, eyes fluttering closed.

The kid falls asleep again almost as quickly as he’d woken up, and he and Tiger Lily exchange sighs of relief when they see Peter's chest rising and falling evenly, all traces of fear gone. 

This time Tiger Lily gives Peter three kisses, two on his cheeks and one on his forehead. Hook swears he sees the kid more at ease as she pulls away, his features relaxing and his brow smoothing out.

He strokes Peter’s hair back before standing, grabbing Tiger Lily’s lantern for her and offering it to her with a promise that he’ll return the water cup in the morning.

He gets a kiss too, on his cheek. He stands there watching Peter for a good few minutes after that, fingers touching where her lips had met his skin.

 

**5.**

Peter’s awake for the fifth time, the night after the fourth.

He’s sitting up in bed when Hook returns from the dancing that’s happened every night since their victory. The moon’s high in the sky, and he’s surprised to see the kid staring at the blanket, small fingers tracing the patterns and embroidery.

“Hey, kid. You all right?” he asks before he really thinks about it, brow furrowing in concern. The kid should be asleep already. They all had a long day, the weather hot and wet and sticky. He’d had to peel his shirt from his skin several times throughout the morning and afternoon, and had heaved a sigh of relief as night brought cooler temperatures.

“Can’t sleep,” Peter mumbles in that soft little English accent of his as Hook walks over to his own bed.

He unlaces his boots, shaking the wood dust out of them and pulling off his socks. Both are tossed to the floor, the boots landing with a loud ‘clomp’ sound. “Well, kid, you’d better figure out how to,” he warns. “Because we have an early start tomorrow.”

There are more houses to start, and furniture to make to go inside of them. He’s seen a few of the beds in progress, and while they’re impressive there aren’t as many as they need for the kids they have.

“Were you there last night?” Peter asks suddenly, blue eyes darting up to meet Hook’s.

Hook pauses, halfway through shrugging out of his vest. “… last night what?” he asks, taking the vest off and hanging it on the bedpost. He sits on the bed and then lays back, hands laced underneath his head.

“When I had the nightmare,” Peter provides.

He hesitates for a moment. Lying was an adult thing, yeah, and he’s damned good at it, but it doesn’t seem like the best option right now. “… yeah, kid, I was.”

There’s silence from Peter’s bed, and he’s half-convinced the kid’s gone to sleep when he sits up and sees bright blue eyes looking right at him.

“Did I say anything about it?” Peter asks.

Hook catches the worry in his voice - or was it fear? He sees movement, and realizes Peter’s toying with a spare thread on the blanket.

“A bit, yeah,” he admits.

“What did I say?”

“You said stuff about fallin’, and dyin’, and my name,” Hook mutters, standing and busying himself with washing his hands and face in the basin they’d been provided.

Again, Peter’s silent, but this time Hook can tell that he’s not awake. He hears the hitch of breath, the lighting of the fuse just before the kid explodes.

“What if I hadn’t been able to fly? What if I’d jumped, and didn’t catch you, and we just kept falling until we-“

“Hey!”

The water splashes out of the basin as Hook turns and faces him. The kid looks like he’s about to cry. He hasn't seen that expression on Peter since he was convinced that he wasn't the Chosen One, that he would never fly and that he'd never make his mother proud. It hurts his heart, just a bit. Enough that he wants to fix it.

“Hey, none of that, all right? Because that didn’t happen. I fell, you jumped, you flew, you saved me. Simple as that. It worked, we’re both standing here, and we’re alive. Both of us.”

He sees Peter nod mutely. 

The tent flap waves slightly. He doesn’t even have to turn around to know who it is. The princess seems to have some sort of internal Peter distress alarm. “Is everything all right?”

“Fine.” It comes out a bit harsher than intended, and he winces a bit. He takes a breath, but doesn’t face the other two. “We’re just … having a talk, that’s all. Nothing to be worried about.”

As soon as he turns to face them, Peter’s off of the bed and throwing himself into her arms and doesn’t that make him feel like an ass? Hook watches as Tiger Lily accepts the embrace, hugging Peter tightly and glaring at Hook as he stands there, hands still dripping water. He stares at the two, trying to think of why the kid was so torn up about this.

Yeah, all right, he could’ve died. But it wouldn’t have been too much of a loss, not really. Tiger Lily could’ve taken care of Peter easily - not like the kid really needed taking care of anyway. And it’s not like he did much in the first place. He’d hurt so much more before he’d helped. The looks he gets sometimes from the tribespeople say that, clear as day.

He didn’t do anything productive. He wasn’t needed by anyone. It was a simple fact of his life that he accepted long ago, and even kind of embraced. No one cared about him, and he didn’t need to care about anyone in return. Simple as that.

He tells himself this as he stares at the other two, separated from their little hug-fest.

He stands there, hands still wet, as a thought pops into his head that scares the hell out of him. And yeah, Peter had talked about it, but Hook hadn’t really thought it through.

What if Peter hadn’t flown?

The kid didn’t know that he would fly. Peter had made the split second decision as he was falling. Either he flew, and they lived together, or he fell, and they died together.

Whether he was really conscious of it or not, Peter’d decided that he couldn’t live without him. That he couldn't live without Hook.

It feels like the breath’s been kicked out of his lungs, and he stands there, openly staring at the kid who’d risked his life for him. He's not going to get all teary-eyed, no, he's not, because he's stronger than that. But the realization does make him think twice.

Peter’s still being hugged by Tiger Lily, but he looks like he’s calmed down a bit, eyes staring at something on the floor of the tent as the princess strokes his hair comfortingly.

Hook dries his hands mutely before gulping and turning towards them, taking a few steps forward. Tiger Lily gives him a warning look, and it’s like another punch to the chest. She thinks he'd hurt the kid? After everything?

He coughs a bit awkwardly, getting Peter’s attention, before he opens his arms. “C’mere, kid. Proof I’m alive.”

He can see the boy thinking, his face confused for a moment before suddenly he's pressed against Hook’s chest. As light as he is, the force still has Hook making an ‘umph’ sound and stepping back to account for the weight. He looks up to see Tiger Lily smiling at them, and he awkwardly wraps his arms around the kid.

Hugging is weird, he decides after a few seconds. Weird, but not so bad. It’s warm, and comforting, and kinda really nice. He wouldn't mind doing it again. Especially not if it was the princess. Or maybe the boy in his arms now.

He hugs Peter for a few more moments before letting him go with an awkward head pat. “Get some sleep, kid. You’re going to regret it in the morning if you stay up any longer,” he warns.

The kid gives him a shit-eating grin and climbs into bed. Hook watches as Tiger Lily fixes the blankets, and then presses a kiss to Peter’s forehead. Peter leans up into it, grinning as the princess leaves. “No kiss for you?”

“Oh, shut up.”

He can hear the kid’s smile in the laughter that follows, and lies back on the bed.

 

**+1.**

The nightmare happens again.

This time, Hook's awake, drafting at the small desk that had been brought in when he started building. The lamp light's low, but he can still see the dark marks on the paper just enough to keep working. He's just finished sketching a rope ladder when he hears the violent shifting of blankets behind him, and turns to see Peter writhing on the bed. 

"Damn," he mutters, standing and almost knocking his chair over. He catches it right before it hits the ground, and rights it as quickly as he can.

Tiger Lily's off on the other side of the Neverwood, gathering more supplies for their building. She won't be back for another few days. He thought they'd be in the clear with more than two weeks gone without a hitch, but apparently he was wrong. 

"Peter?" he tries, calling the kid's name. He gets a whine in response, and then the kid rolls and pitches towards the floor. 

He barely makes it - he has the blankets to thank, the fabric slowing Peter's fall to the floor. He darts forward and knocks over his charcoal and his chair in the process, but catches Peter before he can make contact with the hard wooden floor. 

The actual, real feeling of falling must've scared the kid even more, because now he has a lapful of sobbing, semi-awake flyboy. He has no idea what to do aside from patting Peter's back awkwardly and stiffly. 

"There, there?" he tries, voice more questioning than comforting. But apparently it works, because he hears a soft laugh through the sniffles. He pulls back a bit, and Peter sits up as best as he can, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. 

Hook grabs one of the cloths he uses for cleaning the charcoal off, wiping the kid's tears away. It results in wet, black streaks across Peter's cheeks. "Aw, hell," Hook mutters, using his thumb in an attempt to clean the boy's face. Peter's laughing now, full out giggling, and it's making the process entirely more difficult. 

"Hey, stop moving, wouldja? I'm trying to clean your face," Hook scolds, grabbing Peter's chin with one hand and licking his thumb to try to get the charcoal off. It's less maternal and more that he knows it'll annoy the kid. 

"Ew, no!" Peter protests, but Hook holds him tight - more for his own entertainment than getting Peter clean, at this point.

He grins as Peter tries to dart away from his hand, but Hook's stronger and bigger and overpowers him easily. He drags his spit-covered thumb across Peter's cheek, leaving a streak of smooth skin revealed beneath the smudge of black. "Hey, that worked." 

"Water would've worked too!" Peter insists, and Hook snorts. 

"Yeah, but then you wouldn't have put up so much of a fight, and where's the fun in that?" Hook asks, grinning. 

The slap to his shoulder's totally deserved, but he really is concerned. He shifts a bit so Peter isn't sitting so much on his knee, stretching his legs out and letting Peter settle between them, the kid sideways on his lap. "Are you gonna tell me what the nightmare was about, or do I already know?" 

Peter shrugs and suddenly finds a loose thread on Hook's vest very interesting. "You know. I mean, there was the alarm, too, but-" 

"What alarm?" It must've been something from London. He knows a bit of that world, but not much. 

The kid shrugs again. "The alarm for the bombs. In London. We had drills, but then there were real ones. We'd look outside and a building that had been there for ages just wasn't there anymore. We never knew if we'd be next."

Well, he can guess why that gave the kid nightmares. He wonders if the other kids get the same one. "So the alarm, and then us falling again?" 

Peter nods, and Hook notices his back is ramrod straight. "C'mere." He puts his hand on Peter's shoulder and guides him back so the kid's resting against his chest. The boy stays stiff for a few more moments before relaxing, letting Hook support him. 

"There aren't any alarms here," Hook says, purposefully keeping his voice low and even. "There are no alarms, and no bombs, and no wars. I'm alive, you're alive, and Tiger Lily's alive. You can fly, you little brat," he mutters, poking Peter's forehead and getting a grin in reply, "and you found out where you're from. We're alive, and everything's all right."

Peter's only response is a deep breath, and him leaning more against Hook. Hook takes this as a good sign, and without really thinking, he kisses the top of Peter's head like he's seen Tiger Lily do a few times. If Peter thinks it's weird, or disgusting, or something along those lines, he doesn't say anything. 

"Get some sleep, kid," Hook mumbles, but he can tell Peter's already halfway to dreamland. 

His back and neck are killing him the next morning. His legs have gone numb due to Peter being across them, and his left arm's lost feeling in it from holding the kid the entire night. But he can't bring himself to regret it, especially not when the nightmares seem to stop, at least for a little while.


End file.
